


The Problem With Head Wounds

by stickylips14



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spideypool - Freeform, Spideypool one shot, Swearing, Unspecified Setting, minor depictions of violence and injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8184184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickylips14/pseuds/stickylips14
Summary: Deadpool had a problem with head wounds, and it wasn’t just that they hurt like a motherfucker.The problem with head wounds wasn’t so much the bullet, blade, screwdriver or what the fuck being lodged forcefully into his cranium, it was what happened when his brain started regenerating.See it only took one bullet to ruin his entire mood. One bullet to tear through some precious brain tissue and one bullet to make a braincell regrow backwards or some shit, and it was bye-bye to happy-go-lucky, jokes-to-hide-crippling-insecurities Wade Wilson and hello to blood-thirsty, knee-cap-collecting Deadpool. _____Marked in-complete because I'll be posting ALL Deadpool/Spider-Man oneshots that I write under this title!





	1. The Problem With Head Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing for this pair, who I love dearly but struggle to characterize!  
> I base my Deadpool and Spider-man off of their comic book companions (even then it's a bit of a stretch huh?), and this is some canon-divergent self-indulgence following the vein that Deadpool is trying to become a hero. It doesn't always go smoothly, and Spider-Man doesn't always handle things with grace.
> 
> EDIT: fixed up the formatting, I hope this is easier to read now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: minor depiction of violence, Spider-Man is a bit of a dick, Wade is generally confused a lot

Deadpool had a problem with head wounds, and it wasn’t just that they hurt like a _motherfucker_.

The problem with head wounds wasn’t so much the bullet, blade, screwdriver or what the fuck being lodged forcefully into his cranium, it was what happened when his brain started regenerating.

See it only took one bullet to ruin his entire mood. One bullet to tear through some precious brain tissue and one bullet to make a braincell regrow backwards or some shit, and it was bye-bye to happy-go-lucky, jokes-to-hide-crippling-insecurities Wade Wilson and _hello_ to blood-thirsty, knee-cap-collecting _Deadpool_.

He figured it was a chemical thing, the rearranging of his brain that flipped the switch, but the other thing with a literal hole in your head was that it left _figurative_ holes in your head, too. So maybe he’d once known the sciencey explanation for his turn-on-a-dime mood swings, but at some point a corkscrew or maybe a well-swung baseball bat had caused that little tidbit to clip out like a bad _Play Station One_ graphic. Or maybe blind rage was a perfectly reasonable reaction to being shot. Who knows.

 

But a head wound was exactly what had turned today into a shit show. It was a slow night by New York’s standards so he was playing hero to a smaller crowd than usual-- it was this thing he was trying out, having a conscience, being the _good guy_ \-- which had led him to trying to stop a convenience store robbery. Piece of cake, usually. The red spandex and pair of katanas was usually more than enough to make the thieves piss themselves, but apparently not tonight. One of the thugs had decided to fire a bullet right into Wade’s head at point blank range, which hey, credit where credit is due, was ballsy as hell. But it had meant that when Wade had picked himself up off the floor and cracked his neck a couple times, blinked back the black spots in his vision, that the guy was screwed.  
Wade didn’t kill him. He just did a very thorough job of making sure that the guy and his accomplice weren’t going to be able to make a run for it before the cops could arrive. The clerk cowering behind the counter throwing up at the sight had just been a little extra bonus.

 

But his mood was still ruined for the night, so he took himself off the streets, taking to rooftops to avoid the temptation to find some cathartic release for his sudden foul mood. The problem with causing a little bloodshed in New York however, was that you always ended up with one of the city’s spandex-clad Nancy Drew motherfuckers on your case, and tonight was, _of course_ , not going to be an exception. And just to make the downhill slide a little steeper, it was Spider-Man coming to give Wade some morally righteous beatdown. Wade knew it the moment he heard even the faintest hint of Spidey’s measly hundred-and-fifty pounds of superhuman ass flinging through the air in his direction, and maybe, usually, he would welcome a little bit of a beatdown from his favorite arachnid-themed hero, but not tonight.  
Tonight, he didn’t have any favorites.

The yelp of surprise Spider-Man let out when he was grabbed by the ankle, mid-swing, was more rewarding than the scream the convenience store robber had let out, trumped only by the wheezy sound of pain Spidey let out when he threw him down to the ground. His reflexes didn’t leave him there for long, naturally, but Wade savored it while he could before continuing on his way.

  
“Deadpool-- what are you doing!” Spider-Man sounded downright affronted by the brief and embarrassing exchange, or maybe it was more the fact that Deadpool was walking away without even a quip, a dirty joke, a pick up line so bad it made his skin crawl. Deadpool was just waving over his shoulder and making his way towards the rooftop’s stair-well access.

  
“Trust me, baby, you don’t wanna do this tonight.” Wade warned, his voice a raspy baritone that went largely unheard by others. His voice was usually a cartoony pitch, sickly sweet and annoying. His voice now made dread roil over Spider-Man. But he couldn’t just let Wade leave, either, so with barely a thought he webbed the door handle shut, barely missing Wade’s reaching hand that closed abruptly into a fist.

  
“I know what you did-- what were you _thinking,_ Wade? You said you wanted to be a good guy!”

  
Wade exhaled slowly out through his nose as he turned, grimly resigning himself to the fact that this was going to happen tonight, that Spider-Man wasn’t going to take the warning shot.  
Spider-Man’s mask was surprisingly expressive, a little thing Wade had always enjoyed, especially tonight where he could imagine his eyebrows shooting up when Wade slowly drew one of the blades off his back, and charged. Of course he knew he wasn’t a fair match to Spidey’s reflexes, and he didn’t entirely resist when the katana was wrenched from his grasp by a thread of webbing-- mostly because that wasn’t his plan to begin with. Apparently even on his worst nights, he no longer wanted to murder Spider-Man. He was more than happy to ram his elbow into Spidey’s throat, though, as he brought down the full force of his weight on him, slamming them both onto the ground, the cement of the rooftop rasping along Spider-Man’s back through his suit and ripping up Wade’s knees for about three seconds before the healed right back up again. Spider-Man was choking through his mask, his head thrown back and hands scrabbling along the ground uselessly. Wade was a fairly good judge of other people’s pain levels, and Spidey was somewhere on the _excruciating_ vein as he spluttered and gasped for breath through a windpipe that was going to be aching for _days_ . Wade had been considerate enough not to break or rupture anything, though. No serious, long term harm done.

  
“I told you you _didn’t_ want to do this tonight, _sweetheart_ .” Wade ground out, his face only inches above Spider-Man’s and his forearm clamped hard across Peter’s chest, keeping him there until he had at least recovered enough to get Wade off of him. He was strong enough to throw him across the rooftop on an average night, but Wade had got the drop on him and he’d hold his upper hand for as long as he could. Right now it seemed like he couldn’t even speak. _Good_ . “And I don’t need to hear it! You wanna talk about being the good guy, huh? Me turning over a new leaf? I said I would didn’t I, but so far-- what’s the _fucking_ point!” He punctuated his point with a sharp press down onto Spidey’s chest, which made him wheeze. “Every time, _every damn time_ I slip up, you throw it all back in my face. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t fucking unalived someone in _months_ , that I only use the rubber bullets. It doesn’t matter that you say we’re _friends_ or that I’m a _better person_ , because every time I step even a little bit out of line with your morally-righteous **bullshit** I’m suddenly so lowly in your opinion that I might as well go back to getting paid for my party tricks!”

  
“W-Wade--” Spidey managed to gurgle out, his hands shoving at the arm keeping him pinned down, although even Wade knew that he was pulling his punches with the attempt to get free. Was he actually _listening_ ? That would have to a be a new damn mutation in his powers.

  
“Shut up! I’m not fuckin’ wrong this time, Spidey. I know I fuck up a lot, I _fucking know_ that I ain’t all together up here, but _friends don’t fuck with each other like this_ . You don’t get to throw me to the bottom of the pile every damn time I make a mistake!”

  
The silence rang out deafening between them for what felt like a long cycle of both of them breathing heavily, Wade from forgetting to breathe during his rant, and Spider-Man trying to regulate himself again and discover a new way to breath that didn’t make his throat feel like it was on fire. While he breathed, carefully, Spider-Man’s hands came up to Wade’s shoulders, which tensed under the touch and he pressed harder into Spidey’s chest in warning. The hands stilled for a moment, as if to prove they meant no harm, before they started moving again, roaming up to gather up Wade’s mask and slowly pull it up and off of his head.

  
“J-Jesus, _Wade_ ,” Spider-Man hacked out, swallowing and wincing as he ran his fingertips through the grisly patch of half-dried blood that covered half of Wade’s head and ran down his neck. He was searching for a wound but wasn’t surprised to find that there wasn’t one. Of course. “Wh-what?”

  
The touch and the questions made something start trying to snap itself back together in Wade’s head. His anger didn’t dissipate, but his underlying murderous intentions were maybe starting to soften. He huffed out through his nose, grinning bitterly. “What? You think I fucked that guy up for no goddamn reason? He shot me in the head, Webs. Head wounds make Wade-y go a little _wacky_ .”

  
“I-I didn’t--”

  
“Oh no. No. Don’t act like you wouldn’t’ve come down on me like a tonne of bricks if you’d known and _don’t think I ain’t still angry_ .” Wade snarled, although it was a little harder to keep the heat in his tone now-- Spider-Man had that effect on him, and right now Wade was _resentful_ of the fact. He didn’t want Spidey’s concern to derail his anger, snuff out the point he was trying to make. Just because the guy touched him? Willingly looked at him, maskless? That’s so _fucking weak_ . Wade cursed under his breath and lifted himself off of Spider-Man, letting him breathe normally again. Spidey gradually pushed himself up into a sitting position, running his hand over his throat gingerly before he rucked his mask up to his nose, visibly panting and it didn’t capture Wade’s attention _at all_ . “I know I fucked up tonight. Start giving me the credit of being able to _realize it_ .”

  
“I-” Spidey caught himself, licking his lips quickly before trying again. “You’re right. You… You have come a long way, Wade. I shouldn’t keep… Treating you like you haven’t.” He finished awkwardly, and Wade was guessing that Spidey was watching him under his mask and Wade was guessing that they were holding each other’s gazes in that moment. It wasn’t a spectacular apology, or… Even really an apology, but it was the start of one, and it made the tension in Wade’s shoulders relent a little.

  
“Damn fucking straight.” Was the eloquent reply Wade came up with, before rubbing at the flaking, dry blood on the side of his head. This was the problem with bouts of rage-- the come-down was always so unspectacular. Anti-climatic. Two assholes in red spandex, sitting on a rooftop in mid-town and a few blocks away, two thieves coming to terms with life without feet, or trigger fingers. The silence stretched on longer than Wade was capable of handling, getting twitchy where he sat as he grasped around for something to say. “Why’d you take my mask off?”

  
“Huh?” Spider-Man seemed to have been day-dreaming in the silence, one hand still delicately stroking his bruised throat.

  
“Before. Why’d you take my mask off?” Wade clarified, reaching to pick up the mask in question, turning it over in his hands slowly, slipping a finger through the hole the bullet had left just above and behind his left ear.

  
“That.” Peter nodded slightly, “I noticed the hole, and… I can’t remember the last time you attacked me. I thought, maybe something was wrong with you. Or maybe it… wasn’t you at all.” Deadpool went very still for a moment, before bodily turning towards Spider-Man. The look on his face was incredulity, causing a slight pinch between his brows. “What?”

  
“You-- privileged _motherfucker_ -” Deadpool snapped reaching out to grab the front of Spidey’s suit, yanking him in close so that there was about an inch between their noses, and Wade’s very threatening looking mouth. “You honestly think the _only_ explanation for me wanting to beat that fine ass of yours into a pulp is that there _was something wrong with me_ or _it wasn’t me at all?”_

  
Spider-Man had actually squeaked when he’d been grabbed, having falsely assumed that he’d gotten his dose of manhandling for the night done and out of the way already, and he threw his hands up in surrender as Wade growled toxic at him and his apparently poor choice of words.  
“No, wait! Wade--”

  
“You might be my damn hero, Webs, but I will happily drag you down from that cloud of yours _any day.”_

  
“Wade!” Spidey’s hands waved listlessly for a moment, before he cupped Wade’s cheeks in them and lurch himself forward the inch or so that was left between them and kissed him. It was a brief kiss, long enough for it to register, and then it was gone again and Wade was sitting there, dumbstruck and blissfully _silent_ for the time being. His mouth fell open in a belated reaction. “Calm down. I’m glad it was just… you. Just you. And that you said what you said.”  
Wade’s mouth moved over silent words for a moment, brow more furrowed than before as his brain restarted, or something. His hold on the front of Spidey’s suit went limp.

  
“You just. Kissed me.”

  
“To shut you up.” Spider-Man explained matter-of-factly, clearing his throat which he _immediately_ regretted because it felt like swallowing around a cinderblock. “So I could say that I’m-- glad. That you kinda lost your rag at me and said all of that. Because-- you’re right. Like I said. You’re right. I keep treating you like you haven’t been getting better-- and you have. And it was kind of shitty of me to assume that you weren’t being yourself when you said all of that, but you were. You were being yourself.”  
Wade squinted slightly, some internal debate rearing its head as he found himself questioning that, undermining it. He’d rolled the thought around that being shot in the head made him flip a switch and, in fact, _not_ be himself. And here Spidey was affirming that he had been very much _himself_ . Whoever that was.  
At any rate, these were the facts; Spidey was recognizing that he had been kind of an asshole with his high-and-mighty expectations and, more importantly, Spidey had _kissed Wade._

  
“Can we just rewind to the kiss because I’m still trying to get a handle on that.” Wade said it without a hint of joking, and yet Spidey was laughing at him like he had said something hilarious, which was highly possible most of the time, just not _right now_ . Once Spidey’s peals of laughter died off, he shook his head a little, ducking his gaze and all. His hands were still on Wade’s cheeks which sent off a separate chain of thought around the fact that Spidey had been willingly touching his fucked up skin for a while now. The jumble of emotions was worse than the damn head wound, at least then it had been a clear switch of feelings. The fuck was this carnival mess?

  
“Uh. I guess I can’t really talk my way out that one, can I?” Spidey breathed a laugh, his smile small and sheepish.

  
“Fuck no, Webs. That happened.”

  
“It-- it did. It did happen. I guess because, I wanted it to. And also to shut you up. It was actually effective for a little while there, too.”

  
“You wanted it to.” Wade parroted, cherry-picking the parts of this conversation he actually wanted to hear.

  
“Yeah...” Spidey replied, slowly, as if he was figuring something out as quickly as he could put words together. “Even after you tried to crush my windpipe, apparently.”

  
“Wait- wait-- so, you’ve wanted it to happen for a _while_ now? What the fuck, Webs! What the fuck! You gotta start talking right now, or my head’s gonna implode tryna make sense of this--”

  
“Or we could not talk.” Spidey offered up, cutting Wade off with a gentle squeeze of his cheeks. Wade could easily imagine his wide, undoubtedly pretty eyes behind his mask. Oh, _hell yes._

  
“Talking afterwards.” Wade insisted.

  
“Yeah-- yeah, of course.” Spidey nodded and licked his lips, and Wade felt suspiciously like he was being lied to, and his head was overflowing with questions about how they had gotten to this point, but then the gap between them was closing again and Spidey’s lips were against his, and Spidey’s lips were a little dry and cracked on the surface, but still incredibly warm and pliant, and shit, Wade felt as shaky and nervous as he had been the very first time he’d been kissed (well, what he recalled as his first kiss. Who actually knew, not the point--), but he wasn’t going to be the first one to pull back and, Spidey seemed nervous as well, even as his hands stroked down to rest on the back of Wade’s neck, instead, unflinchingly.

 

Wade had a new problem with head wounds now, and that was the threat they posed to this exact memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos, comment, let me know what you think! :)


	2. Safe House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's failings to take proper care of himself finally catch up on him, mid-battle. Luckily, Deadpool is the good guy these days, and he's pretty good with a suturing needle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: N/A

Being bitten by a radioactive spider came with a _plethora_ of benefits; super- _everything_ , for one. Strength, agility, stamina, equilibrium. You name it, Peter had it in spades, as well as an internally-wired alarm system for incoming danger and a slightly-above-average healing factor.

Do you know what completely undercut all of those abilities?  
Not sleeping. For weeks.

And not sleeping for weeks was _exactly_ how Spider-Man got stabbed right through the thigh mid-battle, because he was so exhausted that he was hallucinating (unless that was something the villian-of-the-week was capable of? Who knows, he wasn’t even present enough to work out what his adversary was preaching on about this whole time) and could barely keep his feet under him. He had watched himself be stabbed in hazy slow motion, barely recognizing his own hands coming up to clutch at the three inch wide _hole_ in his leg. All he could think was, _damn, it’s going to take me a while to fix my suit after this,_ before he lost his balance for good and a big chunk of his timeline went black.

The fall should have killed him. Peter always fought high off the ground because he generally had an advantage, and this fight hadn’t been much different. So he should have died, but instead underneath him he felt the grimy brick of an alleyway, and the grime wasn’t his insides on the outside, although he did have a splitting headache and-- nearly _black out_ inducing pain coming from his left leg. Was that him whining? He felt like he couldn’t _breathe_ in his mask, bringing his hands up to yank it off his face only to have his wrists caught and the motion stopped.

“Woah, woah, Webs. I’m flattered, but I think we’re moving too fast, don’t you? Let’s keep that a secret for now.”

“Wh… Wade?” Peter’s tongue felt like clay in his mouth and saying a single word had never been so complicated in his life. He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the colorful spots disturbing his vision, or at least make them stop moving so rapidly. From between a swirl of red and blue he made out black and red and the white eyes of Deadpool’s mask peering down at him. He was only inches away from Peter, who didn’t have the energy to start and honestly, he’d never been so goddamn happy to see the merc in his personal space. “What’s happenin’--?”

“Shhhh, Spidey, I’ve got ya.” Deadpool soothed quietly, like _genuinely_ soothed. It was terrifying, and caused a fleeting thought to scroll through Peter’s head in bright neon lights:

**_I’M DYING._ **

“What. Happened.” Peter ground out past his teeth, his jaw unwilling to unclench.

“Okay, so, you got stabbed and _nearly_ became a spidey-pancake here on this sidewalk, _but_ , instead it was me who became the pancake. Deadpool pancake, after I caught you. It’s fine. Snapped my legs back into place, I’m fine. _You_ \-- however. Have bled quite a lot, and I’m gonna have to pick you up in a second, Spidey, and it’s really gonna smart, but you just gotta grin and bear with me, okay? Okay. Sounds great. Let’s go, champ.” Wade clapped his hands together, and Peter didn’t have time to beg for some other alternative to being picked up before it was happening and, from somewhere in the distance he heard screaming which _might_ have been his screaming, and then the world went black again.

 

********

When Peter woke up, he was in considerably less pain-- almost none, in fact, and the first time he turned his head, there was a rush and he felt like he was floating through time and space. The pillow under his head was the softest thing he’d ever felt. He must have been on enough painkillers to take down an _elephant_ , and the feeling of Wade methodically suturing the wound on his thigh was reduced to the utterly foreign feeling of a needle sliding into his skin and back out again, and nothing else. It was the strangest feeling, and his brain was scattered half away across New York thanks to the drugs, so he had no way of mashing words together to make sense of it. He just lay there, staring forward at the small medical kit open on the night stand, experiencing the sensation the way one experiences an infomercial at three in the morning.

“Spidey?”

“Mmhmm?” Peter hummed, and his eyes moved in slow motion in their sockets in search of Wade, who was sitting on the bed with Peter’s leg in his lap so that he could see his work in the low light of the room. He was trying to be considerate, because anything but natural (as natural as New York got) light would probably have made Peter’s head explode.

“You awake, buddy? How are you feeling?”

“Really-- high.” Peter mumbled, and found that no matter how badly he wanted to rub at his face, he couldn’t seem to get his hands to move. _Really_ high.

Wade laughed and Peter felt the tug of a knot being tied and listened to the _snip_ of the thread being cut. “Yeah, should be orbitin’ Saturn about now. How’s the view, you lucky bug?”

Peter lay still because he didn’t currently have much of say in the matter, but under his mask his brow furrowed and he shook his head, which looked more like he was kind of nuzzling the pillow instead. “Spiders aren’t insects so you can’t really call them _bugs_ , and--stop it-- stop talking like I’m dying or somethin’, I’m okay.”

Wade sighed, barely audible over the sound of him shifting on the bed, his gloved hand coming into Peter’s line of sight as he reached for the med kit on the night stand, picking out a gauze pad and tape so that he could set about covering the wound he had just (painstakingly) sewn shut. “Yeah… Yeah, I know, Spidey.” He breathed out a laugh, at himself for failing to muster up any of his usual energy. He licked his lips and patted the firm, healthy skin of Peter’s thigh above the bandage. “In fact, you’re all patched up, all you gotta do now is rest up!”

“Where are we?”

“Safe house.” Wade sing-songed, sounding a little more like he usually did as he carefully moved Peter’s leg out of his lap and climbed off the bed. “I have a few, you know, scattered around the place for this kinda shit. I couldn’t take you home, since I dunno where home is for you, and the hospital would’ve been _way_ too many questions.”

Peter couldn’t argue that, at all. It was a good call on Wade’s part, a surprisingly well thought out, totally sane call on Wade’s part that had saved Peter being unmasked, to either the general public or Wade himself. It took a long moment for Peter to realize he was smiling, and longer still to realize that Wade couldn’t see the little gesture of thanks, so he murmured the word instead.

Drugged out or not, he noticed the pause in Wade’s movements at that, the low light catching on his eyes as they darted down to Peter’s masked face. Wade was maskless. Eventually he grinned, reaching out to nudge Peter’s chin with his knuckle. “No problem, _sweetheart_. Get some sleep now, you look like shit.”

“Do not.”

“Yeah, true.”

“Wade?” Peter called softly, hesitantly, stopping Wade with his hand on the door handle.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t…” Peter sighed to himself, finally managing to bring his hand to his face and rub his fingers over his mouth through his mask. “Don’t leave.”

“Leave? No way, Webs! I’m just gonna set up camp in the other room. Right out here, you’ll be able to call for me if ya need anything.”

“No, I mean--” Peter hesitated, and thought of every single excuse he could give for why he was asking what it was he was asking. But every excuse- he was high, he was exhausted, he was hurt- weren’t excuses at all. They were the heart of the issue-- he was _vulnerable_ , and he didn’t want to be alone. Not right now. Tonight needed to be different from the rest, not an empty, quiet room where he could somehow come up with enough brutal, invasive thoughts to ward off the sleep he so desperately wanted. He just… Needed someone near him. So what if it was Wade? Wade was as good as any other person-- especially since all Peter was going to do around him was _sleep_ . “Stay here with me. I sleep better with someone else around, and, I don’t know, you can make sure I don’t roll onto my back in my sleep and swallow my tongue or something if you’re in here. Seriously, what did you _give_ me?”  
“Not important.” Wade waved off absently as he closed the door and turned back to face into the room. “It’s a single bed.”

“So?” Peter groused, not really fussed with the logistical issues of trying to fit Wade Wilson, well-built, fully grown man, into an already occupied single bed. “Staying or going, Wade?”

“Well, I warned ya.” Wade laughed, clapping his hands together before approaching the foot of the bed. Peter wasn’t sure if his mind was exaggerating the time it took for Wade to unclip and remove all of his weapon holsters and belts, but it felt like a good five minutes passed before Wade climbed up the bed to settle behind Peter, his body warm and _right_ behind his.

Right. Single bed.

There was a brief, carefully played game of leg tetris before they were both as comfortable as they could get. Wade had no idea what to do with his hands.

“Night, Wade.”

“Good night-- Hey, quick question.”

Peter sighed, but kept his eyes shut. “What?”

“How old are you? I’m trying to minimize the guilt factor as much as possible for when I pop a boner.”

“ _Wade_.”

“What? I _did_ warn you, Spidey, and your ass is _right against me_ right now, and it’s like, a-grade. A _plus_. Somehow even spandex doesn’t do it justice. I could bounce quarters off of--”

“ **_Wade._ ** ” Peter snapped, his exasperation blown out to smother any hint of amusement or, deeply denied, flattery.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, I’m just tryna lighten the mood, Webs. My best friend could’ve died today.” He was close enough for Peter to feel his breath on the nape of his neck, fluttery and warm and not entirely unlike his spider-sense. He said nothing, and Wade took that as a sign that he was listening. “Don’t get me wrong, catching you in my arms like a damsel in distress? Dream come true. Even when my shinbones splintered-- worth it. If superheroing was _that_ ninety percent of the time, I would’ve been a good guy from the start-- but the whole moment would’ve been a lot more fun if you had been like, _conscious_ . Lemme tell you, the problem with masks? It’s really hard to tell at first glance whether or not you’re _alive_ \--”

The searching touch of Peter’s hand on Wade’s caused him to shut up rather abruptly, practically holding his breath in amazement as Peter took his hand, fingers sliding between his and all, and used it to guide his arm around him, resting Wade’s hand against his chest, over his heart. His very alive, beating heart.

Peter was still silent, curling up on his side a little more as if he could wrap around the hand on his chest, although the reality was that moving his legs too much made his stitches pull in a very wrong way. Wade might not have been happy about his mask, but right now, Peter was. His cheeks were _smarting_ hot and his expression was probably vividly showing in inner dialect of _what the hell are you doing, Parker? Comforting him, like he’s comforting_ me _._

“... I’m in my twenties. And. Hey… Thanks. If you hadn’t have been there--”

“Spidey pancake.” Wade supplied, because he didn’t want to hear the real words.

“Yeah. But I’m here, alive, thanks to you, so. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

“Yeah-- yeah, okay.” Wade let out a breathy laugh that reaped havoc all along the back of Peter’s neck. “But I was dead serious about the boner thing, Spidey. Dead serious. Good to know you’re legal.”

“ _Jesus_ , Wade--” Peter cut himself off with a slow, deep inhale, shaking his head into the pillow. “Whatever. I plan to sleep for a week. I don’t care. _Good night_ , Wade.”

“Yeah,” Wade murmured, and the heat returned to Peter’s cheek in an instant as he felt, undoubtedly, the press of Wade’s lips to the back of his neck in a light, hesitant kiss in full opposition to his lecherous speech. He lingered there for all of a second before there was as much distance as possible between them, which was still close enough for Peter to feel his sigh. “Good night, baby boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of a helluva lot to say about this one, other than (once again) it's totally self-indulgent, slightly-reluctant superhero cuddling. I think I prefer writing more from Wade's perspective though, I think my pacing matches up better with his. Peter is a little calmer and less off-beat. Little lessons!  
> Thank you for reading! Please comment, kudos, let me know what you think! (Are there any content warnings needed for this piece? I came up blank)  
> And hey, wanna feed me some prompts? I have a tumblr and my inbox is open: historicalmarinette.tumblr.com  
> I'm pretty open and flexible about what I'll write, and ofc you'll get a shout out! :)


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